


Unlikely Events

by DerangedLychan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerangedLychan/pseuds/DerangedLychan
Summary: Everyone in his village got a guardian at age five. They were brought into the forest, deep into the forest, by their parents and left for exactly three hours, with strict warnings against leaving the clearing they were placed in. Of course, most didn't listen, as was expected of five-year-olds. That was how their guardian found them, though. They would usher the disobedient child back into the safety of the clearing. Their parents would return, and the guardian would be recognized, and more often than not, welcomed into the home. Such was tradition.
Relationships: France/Scotland (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Unlikely Events

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this YEARS ago and thought I lost it when I purged my ffn account. Found in a buried folder and uploading for safekeeping.

Everyone in his village got a guardian at age five. They were brought into the forest, deep into the forest, by their parents and left for exactly three hours, with strict warnings against leaving the clearing they were placed in. Of course, most didn't listen, as was expected of five-year-olds. That was how their guardian found them, though. They would usher the disobedient child back into the safety of the clearing. Their parents would return, and the guardian would be recognized, and more often than not, welcomed into the home. Such was tradition.

Francis, however, was completely against it from the start. Firstly; he didn't _like_ the forest. When his mother carry him towards it, and past the outer ring of tall, ancient trees, he started to protest in the broken speech of a five-year-old child. Secondly; some of the other children, the older ones, used their guardians to terrorize some of the younger ones, telling horror stories of how they got them, and chasing them about. Lastly was because his mother wasn't native-born to the village. She had moved there with his late father, and Francis was born only weeks after his death.

The small child tugged at the sleeve of her light blue dress, sitting back in her arms with teary eyes and pouting. She smiled gently at him, stroking his hair and pulling the child back against her.

“Now hush, Francis.” she cooed, no real conviction to her words as they venture farther from the village. “Stop your fussing, mon petit pétale.” the child sniffed, hiding his face in her shoulder, inhaling deeply the scent of his mother's perfume to block out the damp and alive smell of the forest around them.

They carry on in relative peace. Francis, having always been a well-behaved child, had quieted at his mother's request, simply laying against her and allowing himself to be carried away from home and into the very heart of the forest.

They stopped at a rather small clearing, no larger than the main room of the village's tavern, and his mother stooped to set him on the ground. Francis immediately started to cry, and cling to his mother.

“Non, mère! I'm scared!” he whimpered, refusing to be set down. She instead crouched, looking him in the eyes. Her own were a faint hazel, where his were the exact blue of his father's. She stroked his cheek, wiping the tears from it.

“Francis, be'ave yourself.” He shook his head. “Come now, do you want the older boys to tease you forever, mon pétale?” another shake of his head. “Then stay here, and don't you leave this clearing, alright?” a nod this time, and the tears were brimming his lower lids. “Now, now, Francis. Mère will be back soon, alright?”

“Oui, mère.” she stood, and Francis allowed her to do so, watching with wide, teary eyes as she disappeared back into the trees. Francis turned and surveyed his surroundings when he could no longer hear his mother's footfalls on the spongy earth.

The entire clearing was draped in faded greens and soft yellows. Though there was naught but a fallen tree crossing the clearing, the branches of the trees around it crossed each other above him, weaving a thick canopy of leaves and twittering birds. Sunlight pour through the few breaks in the leaves, casting pale yellow beams to the spongy earth below, illuminating variously shaped patches of the moss-covered ground below.

All of this was lost on such a young child, though, and he simply walked over to sit on the fallen tree. His mother had told him not to leave the clearing, so he wouldn't. Simple as that. He didn't want to go through what the older children claimed to have suffered, and he didn't need a guardian. The child look around again, sensitive to every noise he couldn't see the origin of. The forest was scary, and his mother wasn't there to keep him safe from harm. What's to say that the clearing wasn't dangerous, too?

He sat quiet for only another ten minutes before starting to cry, sobs wracking his tiny frame as he lament his loneliness.

Only a half-hour later, an entirely different sound caught the child's attention. Heavy footfalls on the soft earth. He scrambled off the fallen tree, to the side farthest from the noise, and peer over the top, trembling. An absolutely massive shape filled the space between two trees, and Francis let out a fearful whimper. The centaur turned his head towards the noise, entering the clearing completely.

He was huge, even by centaur standards, standing around nine feet high, with broad shoulders and the powerful, thick legs of a draft horse. A shock of wild, red hair grew above thick brows and high cheekbones. Forest green eyes met teary blue ones, and Francis ducked below the edge of the log, breaking into sobs again.

“Oi, no need tae cry, bairn.” his gravelly voice sound, much closer than what the child cared for. He was speaking with a very thick accent, and the five-year-old was hard pressed to understand what little of it he could. The centaur jump the log, turning to face the cowering human child, but didn't draw near. His expression was soft. “Whit be a wee thing like ye doin' wye out 'ere?” he ask, and Francis merely shook his head.

“N-non! Go away!” The beast blinked, and lowered himself to the ground, not drawing any nearer the weeping child. “Go away!”

“Whit is yer name, bairn?” He asked, voice gentle. “Ah'm Alasdair.” The five-year-old study the centaur carefully, tears slowing after a period of time had passed and he hadn't moved toward, or away from him. He shift in his place, light blue tunic ruffling faintly around.

“Francis...” he said, voice quavering.

“Hou come yer cryin', Francis?” He inquired. The child didn't answer for another long while, and the centaur didn't move.

“My mère.” he said simply. “She gone.” Alasdair cooed gently.

“Hou come?” He asked.

“Supposed to stay 'ere.” he said. “'Til she comes back.” Alasdair looked perturbed, shifting his great weight but not drawing near the frightened boy.

“Wye out 'ere?” he balked. “Awfu long wye from 'ome, aye?” he frown. Why a woman would leave her child in the middle of such and old and completely occupied forest was beyond him. Humans were strange and feral creatures. Francis nodded in agreement. They rest in a slightly thick silence until the lad spoke up again.

“What're you?” he asked. Alasdair smile at him.

“Ah'm a centaur.” he respond, motioning to his relaxed lower half. “A 'orse man.” Francis stare at him in awe.

“Do... centers... Eat kids?” he asked, struggling with the word 'centaur'. Alasdair gave a great, booming laughter, shaking his head.

“Naw, Francis, naw.” he assured. “Ye'd taste awfu, Ah'm sure.” He smiled, and the frightened child venture to return the gesture uncertainly. Alasdair's laughter faded into a slight chuckle. “Francis?” the lad looked up to him curiously. “Ye want me tae take ye 'ome? Ah'd feel awfu shoddy leavin' a wee bairn out 'ere in the woods. Yer far from 'ome an' it ain't safe.” He wait patiently for a response from the boy, not moving towards or away from him. At a length, he nodded, blond locks bouncing faintly with the movement.

“Oui.” He stood and walked over to the beast, wetting his lips and looking up at him with trepidation. Alasdair smile at him comfortingly, lifting him up.

“Ye kent...” he started, in a conspiratorial tone. “When we get back to yer mum, ye'll be taller than 'er.” and with that, he stood to his full height, bringing Francis upwards eight feet. The child tensed in his arms, but relaxed after Alasdair's arms didn't lessen their firm hold of him. He giggled.

“Will I be taller than everybody?” he asked.

“Aye.” The child gave a delighted giggle, leaning against him. Alasdair turn and start towards where he knew a small village to be, cradling the five-year-old in his arms. He could only assume that the nearest village was where he lived. If he was wrong, he'd be at a loss. Francis reach up, and tentatively tug at his facial hair. Alasdair looked down at him curiously.

“Do all centers 'ave beards?” he asked, little fingers still holding onto it. Alasdair shook his head, chuckling.

“Nae the lassies.” he said, smiling. Francis withdrew his hand.

As they make quick progress towards the town, Francis's caution gradually lessened and he relax entirely, teasing and asking questions of the significantly older male. He marvel at the fact that he was part horse, and how old he claimed to be. Ninety seven, in fact, but Francis would have none of that, declaring him ten, like the boy from down the road.

When they broke the treeline, and he carried Francis into the village, they was met with instant hostility. Only a few steps towards the village, a shout rang out and a few brave, or stupid, souls, carrying weapons, marched right up to the beast, standing just back, arrows notched and swords drawn. Alasdair scowl fiercely at them as one, the largest and most likely the leader, step away from the others.

“Whaddya want, beas-” he cut off, eyes widening as they fell to the child clinging to Alasdair, fear in his blue eyes. “Why do you have the Bonnefoy's lad?” he demand, brandishing his weapon. Alasdair held Francis tightly and reared slightly once, marching forward to loom over him.

“Ah brought 'im 'ere 'cause ye fuckers left the bairn out in the woods, ye dunderheid.” he snap easily, powerful gaze sweeping over them. “Whaur be 'is mother?” he demand, watching them lose face and glace among themselves, weapons slowly lowering. “Ah wont turn the lad over tae nobody but 'is mother.” he said, glaring down at the man.

“A centaur?” he asked, and Alasdair cock a brow, staring down at him as though he were stupid. “A centaur as a guardian. That don't happen. It just don't.” Alasdair blinked at him owlishly.

“Are you my guardian?” Francis piped up from his arms, having noted the lack of hostility. Alasdair looked down at the child, then to the man before him.

“Whit are ye talking about?” he shifted his great weight, confused. He wasn't from these parts, and this talk of being a 'guardian' was foreign.

“You brought 'im back?” a soft female voice sounded, a French accent flowing through her words and Alasdair look beyond the group to a woman who was weaving her way between them. “None of the other guardians 'ave brought them back before, 'ave they?” the man shook his head. She smile up at Alasdair, unafraid. “Well then you're special. What is your name?”

Alasdair had every urge to just ignore her questions, and by all rights he felt he could. But what would he gain from that? He could smell that she was weak, and see with his own two eyes how slight her frail figure was. There was no pride in that. “Alasdair.” he answered at length.

“Mère!” Francis called, squirming in Alasdair's arms to loop his little arms around Alasdair's neck. “Look, mère, I am taller than you!” She smiled gently. “My guardian is the tallest, mère. 'e is the tallest.”

“I believe you're right, mon petit petale.” she cooed, smiling up at him. “What say you, Alasdair?” she asked. “No other guardian 'as brought the child back before, an' we are not from this town, you do not 'ave to stay.”

Their eyes met, and in that moment Alasdair was aware of just how weak she was. She was dying, and knew so, and her soft hazel eyes show she was aware that Alasdair knew as well. He searched her gaze, but only found a patient calm. She wasn't afraid of her fate.

“You don't have to ask the-”

“Aye.” He cut the man off. Francis gave a delighted giggle, hugging him. Her smile widened.

“Merci.” Alasdair wasn't French, and he didn't know much of it, but it didn't take a genius to know he was being thanked. She reach up and lay her hand on his arm.

As soon as her palm touch his warm flesh, a ripple of electricity danced over his entire being, starting from her hand and spreading over him in the matter or a few seconds and leaving a slight warmth in its wake. He blinked, shifting his grip on the child, and looking down at her. She smiled at him.

After a moment of silence, she turned a bit, and spoke to the men gathered. “You can go 'ome now, thank you for your concern, but I do not need any protection.” her voice was soft, but seemed to be enough to break the trance they seemed to be in. With a bit of mumbling and lingering glances at Alasdair, they left, retreating back into the village. Her hazel eyes lifted to his sharp green ones. “You cannot very well come into town like that without raising another ruckus, can you?” she giggled.

He shivered, form rippling and fading, and eventually melting away entirely, leaving a tall, but not so huge as he was, Alasdair, standing on two, rather than four, legs. He was tall by the standards of men, but felt incredibly smaller than he was before, and cold. Without the fur over his lower half, his bare legs were cold, as were his other extremities. He stumbled a bit, frowning, and held Francis close, the five-year-old chattering away in his arms excitedly, looking down at his legs.

“There, that is much less attention-drawing, oui? Not that you are not 'andsome, but without 'orse legs you will not raise so much alarm.” Alasdair frowned, looking down to her still.

“Ye 'umans're runnin' on too few legs.” he grumbled, righting himself and taking a tentative step. He didn't stumble so much, but still felt uneasy without his usual number of limbs.

She giggled. “Come with me, and we will cover you up. I am certain that we can find some clothes to fit you.” She turn completely, and start a relaxed pace into the town, and after a moment's hesitation, Alasdair followed on shaky legs.

~::X::~

Alasdair was correct in his observations, and Francis's mother passed away that very year. Alasdair was an early riser, but no morning person, and after he'd shaken his own post-sleep delirium, he'd gone to wake up the petite mistress of the small abode. He knew something was wrong as soon as he put his hand on the door. There was no small whistling on the other side that indicated she was asleep.

He pushed open the door and found her laying on her back in her bed, peaceful as ever. Her blonde hair splay out on the pillow behind her and her arms lay at her side, one along the length of her torso, the other resting near her head.

A Cu Sith stood beside her bed, green fur gleaming in the early morning light.

Their eyes met, and Alasdair sigh quietly, sadness sweeping over him. Leaning forward, the spiritual hound opened it's maw and gently took hold of her small hand, then pulled away, drawing her soul with it. It cast Alasdair one last, lingering glance, before stealing away into the early dawn.

~::X::~

Years passed, and Francis grew to, and beyond the normal age to lose one's guardian, but Alasdair stay by his side, keeping him from harm. He was a constant in Francis's life. Someone who was never far for very long, and remain the same in his vastly changing world. Alasdair never quite got on with the people in the village after their arrival so many years ago, so when Francis was eighteen, he let a local family move into his mother's home so long as they care for it, and maybe offer him bed were he to return, and they left.

They'd found a much larger township nearer the coast, and taken up residence there, living in a small house near the outskirts of town. Alasdair had taken to working the docs, and Francis found himself working in a vineyard not far form their home. It wasn't an overly extravagant lifestyle, but it was a pleasant one, and they were content for the most part.

Francis cooked their meals, using every opportunity to experiment and try new things, and Alasdair took care of any manual labor required; cutting firewood, clearing the immediate area of weeds and large rocks so Francis and he could begin to grow the majority of the simpler vegetables for their meals. Francis found that Alasdair, though a bit reluctant to for a long time, didn't mind eating a bit of meat in his meals every now-and-again, so long as it wasn't hoofed.

The weather was a bit fitful so close to the coast around winter. It was almost always raining from late fall into spring, and the winds would kick up on occasion, being a general pain and making a mess of things. The air was fresh and clean, though, and tasted of salt water and of forest, there was one a few leagues to the North. It was nowhere near as large and ancient as the one Francis and Alasdair knew.

Alasdair had taken to shifting into his natural form during the sunset and the early hours of the morning, not reverting to his bipedal body until the first rays of the sun touched his form. It was one of these such mornings that Francis walk out of the house and gaze upon him silently a moment.

The sun illuminated the contours of his body, and he didn't return to standing on two legs for a while longer, seeming to hesitate in doing so. Once he did, Francis walked forward and placed an arm on his shoulder. “Alasdair,” The green of the forest turn to the blue of the sky, and Francis smile gently up at him. “What's troubling you?” The redhead smiled faintly, reaching up to lay his own hand over Francis's.

“Ah miss runnin'.” he said, shifting to intertwine their fingers. Francis moved to stand directly against his side, holding gently to his hand as his free arm wrap around the blond's waist. “We're so close to such a large city, Ah cannae run without bein' noticed.”

Francis shifted closer, laying his head on the centaur’s shoulder and speaking in a soft tone. “Then why don't you ask to go to the forest? If we leave early in the morning, none will see.” Alasdair looked down at him, releasing his hand to brush a few stray strands of hair out of his face.

The early morning sun's light caught and lit Francis's eyes a brilliant blue, and his hair was a mass of silken gold. Alasdair leaned forward and pressed their lips together briefly, and neither thought anything of it. “I dunnae want te bother ye about it, Franny.” The smaller male chuckle quietly, nuzzling his shoulder.

“Alasdair, I would be 'appy to 'elp.” He assured, turning his gaze to the docs and the ocean, where the sun was slowly climbing out of the waters. “You wouldn't be bothering me.” Francis ran the tips of his fingers over the line of his jaw. “I will speak with Elizeveta about not going to work tomorrow. She is a wonderful girl, she will understand.” Alasdair smile faintly as Francis move to stand in front of him, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. His face was cast in shadow as he turned his back to the sunrise. Alasdair's hands fell to rest on his hips.

“Alright, Franny.” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss him again, lingeringly.

They part and went their separate ways for the day, giving no extra thought to the encounter. Those types of actions had been growing increasingly common, and where Alasdair didn't care to give thought to whether or not it would be strange in the first place, Francis was happy with the actions, be they particularly acceptable or not, and didn't seek to find discomfort with them.

~::X::~

They awoke and departed early, even by Alasdair's standards, rising before sunrise and departing as the eastern sky just began to light a faded blue with the coming dawn. Francis packed food and a blanket, as well as clothes for Alasdair when he chose to return to his bipedal form. 

The Scot refused to cross the fields between themselves and the forest as a man, explaining that it would take far too long and be sweltering by the time he got to run. The early morning chill was perfect. He stood before the house as the great, four-legged beast Francis had first lain eyes upon him as; tall and vastly powerful, head held high with a challenging and proud stance.

“Ready?” Francis simply nodded, accepting the help when it was offered and allowing Alasdair to swing him up onto his back. The man recalled when he was younger doing just this, sitting astride him with his arms looped around his shoulders.

He remembered the first time Alasdair consented to Francis riding on his back. He was ten years old and Alasdair was less worried about him falling off. He'd chattered excitedly in his ear the entire time, asking him to run, and trying to steer. Alasdair had nearly pulled him off and dropped him on his ass, telling him to settle down or he'd get bucked off. Which was a fairly futile effort, trying to settle the child.

Alasdair looked over his shoulder at him, cocking a thick brow. “What's so funny?” he asked gruffly, a cautious smile quirking the corners of his mouth upwards. Francis kissed his cheek, smiling brightly.

“I was just remembering the first time you let me ride, Alas.” he explained, and Alasdair's smile widened.

“Aye, ye were an annoyin' wee shit.” Francis chuckled, nuzzling him. “We 'eadin' out?” Francis lay his cheek against Alasdair's warm shoulder, nodding faintly.

He could feel the strong muscles bunch and shift below his arms and his thighs as Alasdair started moving; first at a trot, then breaking into a full gallop. His hoof beats made a swift and heavy rhythm against the earth, leaving the tracks of a great horse in their wake. Francis sat back cautiously, unused to riding horses at all, let alone at such a breakneck pace, and fearful of falling off. He laughed weakly as he finally straightened completely, holding onto Alasdair's shoulders with only his hands, albeit in a vice grip, pack bouncing against his hip. He was grateful that he'd neglected to bring anything fragile.

The landscape roll by slowly, despite the speed he knew they were going. The soft blues and violets of the early moments before dawn languidly blending into the yellows and oranges of the sunrise, the colors and lights reflected by the grasses they traversed. He wondered idly if they would get to see the sun crest the horizon by the time they reached the lip of the forest, for it would be a lovely sight indeed.

He turned, looping his arms a bit more securely over the older male's shoulders. The forest grew and steadily drew forward to meet them, even as they rushed in it's direction, wind fighting to pull them back, pushing at their front and whispering past their ears. The scent was light and sweet on the air, tasting of morning and of life.

Alasdair glance over his shoulder at the other and the same whispers of simple life and light could be found in his forest green eyes.

Francis fancied he knew why Alasdair was so exhilarated at the prospect of running like this.

When they reached the rim of the forest, Alasdair slowed, and stopped, breath heavy and smile brilliant. Francis was, despite the slight ache in his inner thighs, completely uplifted, his spirits high and light, held aloft by the feeling of freedom their run had given him. The human tilt his head back and let out a peal of merry laughter, simply for the sake of doing such a simple and pleasing act. Alasdair offer a chuckle of his own in response.

“See?” he said, twisting to look back at his passenger.

“ _Oui_.” Francis responded breathlessly, grinning.

“It gets even better in the forest.” Alasdair said with a grin of his own. Francis lean forward to kiss his cheek, a giggle escaping ghosting out over the angle of his cheekbone.

“Then let's see, oui?” Alasdair's responding laugh was strong and eager and thrumming with the life of the forest and the fields.

~::X::~

The ride through the forest was exhilarating, and left no room for dosing. They wind through the trees at impossible rates, Alasdair obviously having experience in woodland travel. Francis was forced to duck on occasion and twist his own figure to avoid any low-lying branches. The ones that did strike him were small and did little.

The forest around them grew older and more prominent as they drove deeper, the air and world around them beating with the soft thrum of life and of growth. Birds sang out their individual songs of greeting and alarm, keeping the quiet of the forest at bay. Everything was warm and close, the forest cradling the beings charging to it's center.

They only stop when Alasdair exhausted his seemingly limitless endurance, slowing and coming to a complete halt in a small clearing, Aladair's chest heaving. He was sweating, shifting his impressive weight and looking about.

The clearing was small, and a creek wound its way along the far end, creating a border between the trees and the various little plants littering the forest floor. The canopy above shielded them for the most part from the hot summer sun, as it was almost noon, but the occasional break sent streams of gold to the fores floor, illuminating the swatches in brilliant detail.

Francis clamber clumsily from Alasdair's back, legs aching bitterly, but more elated than he'd been in a long time and laughing quietly. Alasdair grinned down at him, and with a slight waver in his form, he was a man again, still breathing hard and sweaty from exertion. He'd run a long way for a long while.

“I know why you missed it, I think. Running, that is.” Francis laughed, and Alasdair nodded.

“Franny, 'ow are yer legs? Ah know ye aren't used te ridin' 'orses, let alone bareback.” Francis winced slightly, bending over to massage his own thighs a little.

“They are sore, for sure, and may be for quite a bit, but it will be fine. It would be nice to sit and eat, though, if you want to.” Alasdair nodded, motioning to the bag on his hip. Francis took it off, and tossed it to the centaur, who caught it and pulled the blanket out. He laid it over the grass near the stream, setting the bag atop it.

”Ah'll get dressed after Ah wash up a bit.” Alasdair said, stepping into the cold creek water and crouching to use it to clean some of the sweat off himself. Francis blinked, creeping up next to him and crouching at the edge, watching him with a grin. Alasdair turned to face him, raising a brow in question. “What do ye n-” he was cut off as Francis splash him in the face, getting up and dancing out of arm's reach before Alasdair had a chance to retaliate with a light laugh.

He turned to face Alasdair just as the other collided with him, sweeping him off his feet and holding him tight to his chest. “Al-las!” Francis laughed, squirming in his arms as the other turned around and started back in the direction of the stream. Francis's eyes widened and he fought harder in his grip, laughing and shaking his head. “Non! Non, Alas I don't 'ave spare clothes!” The centaur ignored his protests and squirming, walking right into the water, and crouching. Instead of struggling now, Francis was clinging to him. “Alas, don-”

He dropped the squirming blond into the creek.

Francis sat up, spluttering and laughing. “Alas!” he gasped, trying his damndest to look angry with the other, and failing miserably. The water felt nice against his heated skin, soaking the back of his light blue tunic and tan trousers. Alasdair only laughed, grinning down at him slyly. The younger pouted. “I'm all wet.” he huffed, and the redhead knelt again to lift him from the water.

“Ye got whit was comin' to ye.” Alasdair chuckled, rubbing his back as Francis looped his legs around his waist and grip his shoulder to steady himself and make sure he wasn't about to fall. Francis smiled, kissing him lightly as he stepped out of the creek. “Ye can wear mah clothes an' Ah'll 'ang yers up to dry, aye?” Francis nodded, dropping his legs to stand.

“Alright, Alas.” he pulled his clothes off and handed them to Alasdair, who draped them over a low lying branch to dry in the warm summer air. 

He turned to walk back to the blanket, only to be stopped by a pair of arms and pulled back against a warm chest. Alasdair nuzzled him, running his lips along his shoulder and inhaling deeply the scent of the other. Roses and the grapes from the vineyard, a gentle and sweet scent, intoxicating. Francis leaned back against him, letting out a faint sigh and turning his head to kiss his temple.

Alasdair loosened his grip enough for Francis to turn and face him, arms draping over his shoulders. Their lips brushed together in a chaste kiss, but as Francis made to look up at him, Alasdair followed his slight pull, pressing their lips more firmly together. Warmth and joy filled Francis, and his grip around Alasdair's shoulders tightened, pulling himself flush against the Scot.

The kiss was passionate and lasting, Francis being lifting somewhere in the middle of it to wrap his legs around Alasdair's waist. In return, Alasdair's hands were relocated to his rear, holding him both up and as close to the other as possible. He pulled away finally, panting for the air that seemed to have come in short supply, and smiling at Alasdair, who promptly moved his kisses down his jaw and to his neck, hands kneading flesh.

Francis wasn't stupid or naive. He knew where their little kiss was rapidly carrying them, and didn't try to stop or slow it in the slightest, tilting his head back and murmuring his name. “Alasdair, the blanket.” he breathed, running his fingers through the wild red locks. A consenting nod, and Francis found himself on his back on the blanket, next to the pack of food and clothes, Alasdair hovering above him, nestled comfortably between his legs.

They'd managed to lay right under one of the breaks in the canopy, a stream of light falling over the back of Alasdair's head and shoulders and surrounding Alasdair's handsome face in a halo of fire. Francis reached up and stroke his cheek, drawing him down slowly into a kiss. His body followed, pressing down against him and leaving no space be  
tween any given part of their front.

His hands started to wander, running up smooth sides and the flat planes of his torso, intent on committing every part of him to memory. The movements were slow and reverent, but firm, calloused palms slowing over sensitive nipples and gripping briefly at smooth hips. Francis return the affections, pale hand ghosting over the centaur's torso and running through his hair.

As Alasdair's hand closed firmly around his straining erection, he didn't once allow himself to dwell on the taboo nature of what they were doing, because it didn't matter to him. There was no witness or judgment in the forest. Only the whispers of the leaves and trickle of the stream. Society didn't matter so deep in nature's arms. There were no taboos or expected behaviors. There were only two beings wrapped around one another and simply existing as they saw fit.

**Author's Note:**

> hilariously i remember being up at 3am in near-tears bc this was supposed to be pwp but i never even finished the smut and it was 5k words or so


End file.
